


Through The Glass

by MyChemicalRachel



Series: Sing Me To Sleep (Series) [2]
Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Anxiety, Bulimia, But mostly fluff, Depression, Drug Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Lots of fluff and sad crap, M/M, Sequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-03
Updated: 2014-09-19
Packaged: 2018-01-19 16:50:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 21,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1476976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyChemicalRachel/pseuds/MyChemicalRachel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[Sequel to Sing Me To Sleep]<br/>Discontinued for now. Sorry, it's just been so long since I've had even a sliver of inspiration and I can't have it hanging over my head with the "On Hold" warning any longer. I guess I never was good at sequels anyway. I'm leaving it up and marked as finished because it's simple cute happy fluff-- It never got far enough in to develop a real storyline, so I guess I'll just leave it as it. Fluff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_Frank's POV _

White flashes against the vapid black, alighting the darkness with a vibrant glow. It's too bright, hitting my eyes in painful waves-- Shocking, blinding, and harsh. It seems to send physical bolts of the lightning through my body, racking my rigid spine with the vibrations. It's all so familiar.

Blue light replaces the white, casting a cerulean glow across the space that surrounds me. It's empty, a vast darkness that swallows everything, and yet it seems to be suffocating me. It's too close, but there's nothing there. Nothing but dead air and shallow breaths. The silence feels too loud and I cringe against the hollow space, a scream building in my lungs and preparing to force it's way up through my throat. I bring both hands up, clamping them against either side of my head, covering my ears and willing the tense silence away. That's when I see it.

My wrist gleams with the blue light, not illuminated by it, but actually producing the glow. The light travels at an agonizing pace up my arm and I feel the scream swelling again in my chest. Nostalgia washes over me like motor oil, feeling sticky and thick on my mind. It clouds my vision, making the entire scene go blurry.

_It's just a dream,_  I tell myself.

You just have to wake up.

_Wake up, Frank._

But I can't move. I can't breathe. I can't even think straight. My thoughts are a jumbled mess of memories, and terror rips at my insides.

I manage to close my eyes against the burning blue light, swallowing every scream that tries to claw it's way forward. It stings my throat and my lungs ache. Part of me knows what's going to happen, this same thing having occurred many times before, but the panic is still there when I open my eyes to the bland white walls. The lights flicker above me with a strange crackling sound, echoing through my ears. I can actually  _feel_  the cool sheets against my skin, the papery gown that covers me and exposes me all at once. The hospital bed creaks slightly under my weight when I shift sideways and slide off onto the floor. The tile chills me and I shiver, pulling both of my arms against my chest and pushing my feet forward.

When my fingers brush the metal handle, a familiar hesitation surges through me and I stop. But the pause is only for a few seconds before I find my hand wrapping around the knob and pulling the door open.

The body is dark against the blinding white hospital walls, the white seeming to curve around the boys frame and swallow him whole. A lanky figure, black glasses framing his dull hazel eyes, and the pale rope that clings too tightly around his neck. I flinch, stumbling backward a step from the familiar boy that hangs in the hallway. My back hits something else and I spin around, coming face to face with another body. This one is female, her light pink lips parted slightly in a silent scream for help, but it's too late. The rope has claimed her as well. "Mom." I reach out to her but yet another object hits me from behind. I don't even have time to turn before the image of my father appears before me as well. Blood covers his clothes and a noose clings to his neck.

I close my eyes. I can feel the presence of the three bodies surrounding me, coming closer and becoming more suffocating. " _Frank_!" The voice shakes me, echoing through my ears and my body, and I look up in panic. " _Frank_!"

_No. Not him._

I look around frantically, pushing past my parents and Mikey to find Gerard. He's standing on the hospital bed, clawing in terror at the rope that tugs at his neck. He watches me, begging me to help him, but some invisible force is pushing him closer to the edge.

"Gerard!" I yell. I lunge forward, needing to save him, every fiber in my being aching to protect him. But it seems like the closer I get, the farther away he becomes.

"Frank..." His eyes search mine, looking not defeated but betrayed, as he takes that final step, falling from the safety of the bed into the empty space. He's suspended by nothing but the rope that digs into his throat, burning and clawing and rubbing raw.

_This is a dream_ , I repeat.

I have to  _wake up!_

My lungs swell again with the terror and I can't fight it anymore, watching as Gerard stops struggling against the rope, his legs going limp and his eyes becoming dull. I open my mouth and let the scream surge forward, breaking the silence that once encompassed me...

I bolt upright in bed, the scream manifesting as I'm jerked from the nightmare. I force myself to calm down, slowing my breathing and focusing on the hands on me. One wraps around my waist, pulling me into Gerard's chest, and the other rubs in soothing patterns on my lower back. "Shh, it's okay, Frankie. I'm right here. It's okay."

Fearful tears sting my eyes and I clamp them closed. It takes a few minutes, listening to Gerard's calming whispers and to quiet my uneven breaths, but eventually I'm relaxed enough to let out a shallow sigh.

"Was it the dream again?" Gerard wonders.

I nod, not wanting to remove my face from where it's pressed into the front of Gerard's shirt, but needing to look at him. I need to make sure this is real. I pull back an inch and look up at him, his features blurred and shadowed in the dark, through tear stained eyes. "It's not real, Frank," He promises me. "It was just a dream, okay?"

But his words don't make it any less painful. I know the truth of the nightmares that have been haunting me on a frequent basis for the past three years, ever since I woke up from my coma; It's my fault they're all dead. Maybe not Mikey directly, but it feels as though there had to be something I could have done to stop it.

"It's not your fault," Gerard says as though he can read my mind. Sometimes I think that he can. Or maybe we've just been through this so many times by now-- My waking up screaming in the dead of the night, waking him up in the process and needing him to comfort me. Maybe it's just our normal at this point and he just knows how this goes. "Look at me." When I don't abide, I feel his slender fingers under my chin, pulling my face up to his. Some unseen light reflects in the dark hazel, glinting and shining as he watches me. "None of this is your fault. Not Mikey's death and not your parents'. Your mom did what she did to protect you. She did it because she loves you and she didn't know how else to show you that. Your dad was abusive and you did what you had to do. You were protecting yourself."

I shake my head, not believing him. I feel a single tear streak my cheek, but ignore it. Gerard brushes the pad of his thumb across my cheek, catching the tear and wiping it away, before pushing some hair behind my ear. A sad smile graces his pale lips. "You're just kind of fucked up," He says, repeating my own words to him earlier today. "But that's okay. I'm fucked up, too." I smile and lean into his touch, sighing in content when he lowers his lips to mine. "I love you, Frank. I don't know what I'd do without you."

I pull him into a hug, hating the truth of his words because the feeling is mutual. Not the fact that I love him, but that I know  _exactly_  what I would do without him-- If I'm being brutally honest, I would probably try to kill myself again. I would have succeeded already had it not been for Gerard. He's the one who saved me the second time I tried, the one who pulled me away from the suicidal thoughts every time they came forward again. And it pains me to know that, without me, he might do the same.

We were two fucked up kids who had lost everything else. Gerard was all that I had left and I knew that it was mutual.

"Come on," He mumbles into my hair, kissing the top of my head and tugging me closer. "Go back to sleep. It's two in the morning."

I nod, allowing myself to be pulled down to a laying position on the bed. The mattress feels too hard all of a sudden and I force my body to relax into Gerard's arms. I let out a heavy sigh and close my eyes, sinking into the touch and trying to focus on just his breathing. The even intake of breath, his chest moving against mine. This is all I need to bury my face in his chest and hum quietly. "Love you, Gerard," I mumble. He doesn't reply, I think he's already fallen back to sleep, but simply having him close to me is enough for now.

But when I close my eyes, I see the images flashing through my mind again. Mikey, my mother, my father. Gerard...

I can't fall back to sleep right away, my head whirring with the haunting images, the guilt and the pain that eats me alive from the inside out. I couldn't save any of them. I pushed them to this point. I might has well have tied the fucking knots myself.

Gerard hums in his sleep, unconsciously shifting closer to me as a tired smile falls on his lips, shadowed in the dark of the bedroom. He mumbles something I can't really make out, but it sounds kind of like my name, and I fall asleep with the thought on my mind, more than content with the fact that he's dreaming of me. 


	2. Chapter 2

**_A/N: So with this story, I'm going to be trying something a little bit different. It will be split into two parts, each part consisting of multiple chapters. Part One will be told in Frank's POV and Part Two will be Gerard's. Also, I had to change the years to make it fit the ages, so (obviously) Mikey Way was not born in 1999. That first chapter was just a preface, so the real first chapter starts now. :)_ **   
**_-MyChemicalRachel_ **

_Frank's POV_

His knuckles are white, slender fingers too tight around the stem of the flower. I advised him not to get roses for this exact reason; I didn't want him bleeding out because of the thorns before we even got to the cemetery. He's not watching me. His focus is on the steering wheel in front of him, but I don't think he's actually paying attention to that either. His mind is in much darker places.

"I can wait in the car," I say finally. The silence that dragged on was making me shift in the passengers seat, the safety belt still pressed across my chest and rubbing uncomfortably on my neck. "If you want."

Gerard shakes his head, looking up at me. A sad smile plays across his pale lips. "I want you to meet him." And then, realizing what he said, he laughs softly to himself. Tears are already settling on the waterline of his hazel eyes, his lashes glistening in the afternoon sunlight. "I sound crazy.  _I want you to meet my dead brother_." Another laugh, though it lacks the jovial tone that his normal humor bubbles with. His mouth turns down and he bites the inside of his cheek. "Am I crazy, Frank?"

I shake my head. "You're not crazy. You're just kind of fucked up." Gerard looks down at the flower he still has clasped tightly. I reach across the center console, pulling one hand away from the stem and sliding my own into it's place. The tips of his fingers are stained a dark grey color, rough and calloused against my mine. His hands are bigger than mine though they rest perfectly together when I lace my fingers through his. "That's okay, though," I continue and lay my head back against the headrest, watching him. "I'm fucked up, too."

Silence fills the car once again as Gerard readies himself. This is a big deal for him and I both and I want him to be relaxed. I absently glance at my watch, the date and time displayed in black blocky letters on the digital screen; March 22, 2019. 1:43PM.

Gerard lets out an unsteady breath and looks over at me. His golden-green eyes are filled with a mix of emotions, the rays of sun bouncing off of his irises and alighting them with a nervous, depressing, hopeful excitement. His smile, though still bordering on sad, doesn't look forced as he nods. "Ready?"

I release his hand from mine and climb out of the white Toyota. The sound of the door slamming shut behind me causes me to jump, the noise seeming too loud in the quiet air surrounding us. A cool breeze hits my skin and I pull the leather jacket tighter around myself, suddenly self conscious of my appearance. Should I have dressed up more? Gerard is wearing his nicest jeans and a straightened button up shirt, layered with a red tie. I'm so inconsiderate. I should have at least worn something other than  _Converse_.

I look down, shuffling my feet against the budding green grass and twisting my hands in my pockets. "Are you cold?" Gerard wonders, his arm snaking around my shoulders and I'm instantly tucked into his side.

The gesture makes me feel slightly better and I shake my head. "No, I'm fine."

Still, his arm remains around me, leading me forward. I count the headstones lining the fresh Spring grass. I take notice of a few patches where the dirt has been disturbed, creating new graves with no permanent markings yet, and it makes me shiver once more. I wrap an arm around Gerard's waist and try to keep my focus on counting the stones.  _One_.  _Two_.  _Three_...

Seven columns up and four to the left.

I notice that Gerard takes care not to step on any graves. He walks where the casket would end, between the bodies that lie underneath the dirt. I follow his actions, trying to keep as near to his footprints as possible, and almost run into him when he stops. His head stays down and I cautiously glance up at the headstone that rests at the head of the grave.

The letters are dark, carved into the pale stone and making a stark contrast to the bright mid-March day. Sunlight blooms around the marker, seeming to cast a heavenly glow across the smooth granite.

**_Michael James Way_ **   
**_September 10, 1999 - March 22, 2013  
                                                                      Did we all fall down?_ **

"Mikey," Gerard's voice cracks on the single word and I look back at him. He's watching the headstone now with tears threatening once more to spill over. The arm he has around me drops to his side and he fumbles with the flower in both hands. His fingers slide across the smooth green stem as he takes a few small steps forward. "I bring you a flower every year," He mumbles. "This year, somebody special helped me pick which one to get." Placing the pansy at the base of the stone, he turns back to face me. I take that as my cue to step forward. My eyes graze over the stone and I can actually imagine the boy I've seen in my nightmares, alive and well, leaning back against the tomb.

My hand finds Gerard's easily and slide my fingers between his, needing to feel the reassurance before I have the courage to speak. "Pansies are a symbol of remembrance," I say, not to the boy who lies six feet below us, but to the image of him I can envision against the stone. "They're supposed to be kept around as a sign of good memories. And Gerard told me your favorite color was red. I thought you would like it."

Gerard squeezes my hand and I smile as he speaks up again. "I wanted you to meet somebody, Mikey." He swallows hard and glances down at me again before shifting his gaze back to the stone. I wonder if he's picturing the same thing I am; The familiar lanky boy lounging lazily against the stone, beanie covering his straightened hair and glasses falling to the end of his nose. "This is Frank. He's my boyfriend."

Again, this is my cue. This time, I take a breath before dropping Gerard's hand completely and stepping forward to kneel in front of Mikey's imaginary form. "Gerard has told me a lot about you." I pick at the grass absently as I speak, feeling the need to do something with my hands. "We were actually in school together. Small world, huh? I didn't know you back then. I didn't really know who you were. Did you know me?" I shrug slightly when I don't get a response. "Well, I wish I had known you. Maybe we could have been friends. That was a shitty time for me. I probably would have been a shitty friend, but you would have been awesome. Gerard told me you played bass. That's really cool. I stole one from the band room in seventh grade-- Every day for two months I would sneak in and take the bass, keep it until the end of the day, and then I would put it back. I taught myself how to play a little. Maybe you could have taught me some real skill." Another shrug. I remain silent for a long second, scrutinizing the grass in front of my knees. A small amount of dirt has already collected on the denim, but I don't mind. When I look back up at the stone, I have to squint against the brightness.

"We never met," I say again. "But I want you to know that you... You saved me, Mikey Way." I bite down on my lip ring, feeling the metal clack against my teeth and run my tongue over the smooth material. "I don't know if Gerard told you about me or not, but I tried to kill myself. It was three years ago, but it doesn't seem like it was so long ago. They put me into a coma so I wouldn't hurt myself anymore and your brother visited me. I remember him talking to me, singing mostly, but when I woke up, I didn't remember anything. And then I remembered  _you_. I remembered hearing about you when I was fourteen, about what happened, and then I saw you. You kept showing up in my dreams and you led me back to Gerard." I let out a soft chuckle and smile. "Without you,  Mikey, I wouldn't be here right now. I wouldn't have found Gerard, I probably would have tried again to..." I cut myself off and sigh, not wanting to delve into what  _would_  have happened if I hadn't found Gerard. So I just smile again. "I just wanted you to know that I love your brother. More than anything. He's messed up, but so am I. I guess we keep each other sane. And I wanted to say thank you for giving him to me. Thank you for helping me find my angel."

It's silent again for a long time before I finally stand up. Brushing the dirt off of my jeans, I turn back to Gerard. His eyes are red and swollen, fresh tears still staining his pale cheeks as he watches me. I offer him a small smile and only have the chance to take a half a step toward him before he steps forward and wraps his arms around me. "Thank you," He whispers.

I don't reply. I know that there's nothing that needs to be said at this moment. Being here for him is enough.


	3. Chapter 3

"Shit!" I jerk my hand away, white hot pain stinging at my fingers and settling in the palm. I bite down on my lip and curse again, clutching the hand to my chest. I groan and bounce up and down a few times before Gerard rounds the corner into the kitchen. As soon as his gaze lands on me, his eyes light up with concern and he rushes to my side. I frown, watching him take my hand gently in his own.

"What happened?" He asks. Without waiting for an answer, he pulls me toward the sink. Flipping on the cold water, he places my hand under the stream. I hiss at the way it assaults the burn and attempt to jerk away again but Gerard keeps my hand in place.

"I grabbed the pan," I explain. I glance back at the glass dish, now half-hanging out of the still open oven, and grimace.

Gerard follows my gaze and shakes his head slightly. "The oven mitts aren't just for decoration, sweetheart." He looks down pointedly at my hand, locking his eyes with mine again. "Keep it under the water," He commands. "I'll be right back."

I watch as Gerard moves across the kitchen, first opening the drawer beside the stove to pull out a single oven mitt, sliding it on and grabbing the casserole from the rack. Placing it on the counter, he tosses the mitt aside and pushes the oven door shut before disappearing from the room. A few moments later, he comes back into the kitchen clutching a roll of gauze and a bottle of pills. When he comes to my side, he turns off the water and takes my hand back in his. Most of the pain has subsided by now, but a dull ache throbs in the palm of my hand when he dabs a dish towel across the skin. When it's dried to his satisfaction, he grabs the gauze. I hold my hand open for him, watching his smooth movements as he pulls the bandage across the palm. "It's not too bad," He mumbles, attaching the material on the back of my hand and glancing up at me. "Does it hurt?"

I shake my head, folding my free arm across my chest. "A little," I admit.

Gerard lets my hand go. He turns his attention to the bottle of Aspirin, tipping it and spilling a few of the small yellow pills into his hand. Again, I shake my head. "I don't need any."

"You do if it hurts," He argues. He looks at me with sympathetic eyes. Damn concern. But he shouldn't be worried about a minor burn-- It will heal and I can deal with a little pain as it does. What he should be worried about is me relapsing.

So I clench my jaw and pull my arms tighter across my torso. "Well I don't  _want_  any."

Gerard purses his lips, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he watches me. He's quiet for a few seconds before lowering his voice and stepping closer. "Two pills aren't going to kill you, Frank. You know that I'm scared to death to lose you, but I don't want to see you in pain. Please, take them. For me."

I sigh, letting my arms fall loosely to my side. Taking the pills from his hand and dropping them into my mouth, I fight the instant urge to cringe. They taste bitter on my tongue, settling in a nauseatingly familiar way. It feels like they stick in my throat, but I know that it's just the nostalgia. I swallow down the thick saliva that gathers in my mouth and take a drink of water. "Happy now?" I ask Gerard, lifting my arms in a vulnerable shrug.

He doesn't answer, stepping forward and wrapping his arms around me. The flavor of the sugar-coated pills stings my taste buds and I close my eyes. It was sickening, revolting, and yet somehow with the pain relief came a serene calmness that felt all too enticing and familiar.

I'm reminded of the day I overdosed, nearly three years ago, on the high school's gymnasium floor. With that memory comes every time I've tried to since. In the past three years, I've dealt with depression, insomnia, night terrors, bulimia, and suicidal tendencies. The depression came at the most horrible of times. When I thought I was getting better, small things would set it off again. Like when I turned eighteen; Gerard and my friends from the group home, Ash and Bob, threw me a birthday party. Beatrice, the woman who ran the home, pitched in to buy me a cake and they got me presents. It would be an understatement to say that it was wonderful. I had a great time, laughing and talking, but that night Gerard cradled me in his arms and I cried myself to sleep. I didn't think I deserved a party or friends. I didn't deserve  _Gerard_. I had told him to leave me alone and then threw a shoe at him, but when I fell to the ground in a heap of tears, he just hugged me and reminded me that he loved me. On graduation, as I walked across the stage and was handed my diploma, I glanced into the audience. Row after row was filled with parents and grandparents and sisters and brothers. And as I looked out at each one of them, I saw the way they leaned across the seat to whisper and point and nod. That was when I was reminded that I wasn't just another kid who was graduating; I was the boy who had tried to kill himself. All of the students knew and it didn't surprise me that the parents did, too. Not one seat was occupied by someone who was there to see me. My parents weren't there to see the milestone of finishing high school and it was because of me.

I was officially diagnosed with depression when Bob found me lying a pool of my own blood in the group home bathroom two weeks after graduation. I couldn't remember anything when I woke up in the hospital, stitches itching on my scalp, but they told me that I'd passed out and hit my head. I didn't understand at first why I had passed out, but the doctor calmly explained to me that he had found a few fresh burns on the inside of my forearm. There was no particular pattern to the scattered marks decorating the skin, but each was bubbled up, about the size of a dime. He thinks I held the lit end of a cigarette to myself until I passed out from the pain.

The insomnia and night terrors came together, haunting my sleep with images of my mother and father. Sometimes, Mikey would even grace my dreams and make the guilt amplify; I had killed them all. It was all my fault that they were never coming back.

Of course, the doctor's prescribed medication that was supposed to help with each thing-- the depression, the insomnia, the nightmares-- but it only added to my addiction. Soon enough, I started craving the pain. I stopped taking the medicine. The lack of sleep was driving me insane and the small sleep I did get was filled with nightmares that made me even crazier. It made me feel weak and scared and I hated that more than anything. I wanted to feel invincible. So I started abusing the medication. I would take the wrong amounts, getting me high enough to feel relaxed. It was like I was in a surreal state. Nothing was real and everything was amplified. My head felt like it was so full it was going to burst, but nothing hurt. Until one time I went too far and overdosed once again.

I was lucky that Gerard found me before it was too late, which according to the doctors, was just in time. I remember when I first opened my eyes, my head foggy and my stomach feeling tight, looking over to see Gerard in the visitors chair. He was leaning forward, his hand wrapped around mine, and tears streaked his bloodshot eyes. "Gee?" I had croaked, not feeling used to my voice yet. "What happened? Why are you crying?"

He just let another sob escape and lunged forward onto the bed, squeezing me against his chest. "Please, Frank. You can't do this," He had begged through the tears that made his voice thick. "I can't lose you. Please. I'm so sorry."

It was when he apologized that it occurred to me; He blamed himself. I was hurting, but by taking away my own pain, I was shifting it to Gerard. I let Gerard check me into rehab soon after, which was one of the most crucial times in our relationship. It really occurred to me at that time that Gerard wasn't lying when he told me he loved me; He was going to be there with me no matter what. I wasn't alone.

Rehabilitation was hard on both of us, though. It was scary and arduous and isolating. I didn't get visitation rights until after detox, which took about two weeks. Fourteen days without seeing or even speaking to Gerard. It was excruciating and I found myself being drawn to self harm. I needed someone to be there, but the only person I  _wanted_  there wasn't. I picked up nervous habits in the solitude-- Picking at the skin on my wrists, sometimes until it bled, or biting the inside of my lip until I tasted iron. When I finally did see Gerard again, he noticed the new marks along my wrists that had scabbed over. He ran his fingers over the wounds and frowned. He made me promise not to hurt myself anymore and I didn't have to; He came by every day after that and I found the habits falling away.

When I was freed from rehab, Gerard had taken me back home to our small, shared apartment. The first thing I noticed after sixty days of being away was the way new drawings cluttered his desk. As I ran my fingers over the dark charcoal, I recognized the image of Mother War. Turning to Gerard, I felt my forehead crease. "You drew her again," I stated.

Gerard nodded, looking embarrassed. "I missed you," He admitted. "I need something to help me breathe without you here. But--" He had looked around for a second before reaching for a sketchbook lying closed at the foot of our bed. "I drew these, too." Handing me the book, I flipped the cover open. The book was filled with hundreds of different images, some eyes and lips and hands. The scorpion tattoo that adorned my neck was present in many as well. They were all me, all drawn from memory and matching in detail nearly perfect. I never took medicine since unless it was absolutely dire. 

Of course, being back from rehab wasn't all cheerful and sappy reunions. Gerard had to go back to work-- I had yet to get a job due to my  _medical history_ \-- and I was left again to my own devices. Being alone in a small apartment for hours on end soon became agonizing and I felt smothered. Each day, the walls drew in a little closer and I couldn't bear the thought of staying still for longer than five seconds. But I didn't want to leave either. I couldn't force myself past the door frame without having a panic attack and calling Gerard to calm me down. His boss didn't understand that I was a recovering addict with suicidal thoughts and overbearing anxiety. After three calls in one day, Gerard was fired.

"I hated that job anyway," Gerard tried to comfort me when I realized that it was my fault our only source of income was cut off. But things were tight for a few weeks until he found another job. In that time, I tried to make myself as useful as possible. I cleaned whatever needed cleaned, I found postings in the help wanted section of the newspaper. I did everything I could to save money, but my  _'help'_  only made things worse. With our budget so low, we had to cut down on the cost of living, including food. I started eating less and less and then stopped altogether. I tried to make Gerard believe I was still eating, claiming that I had already eaten or simply wasn't hungry. But after two days of no food, my stomach ached with the lack of nutrition and I started eating everything. When I realized what I'd done, I rushed into the bathroom and jammed my finger as far back in my throat as I could. It didn't stop there, though. I continued the binging, eating whatever I could, and then purging it all again. It went on for three weeks before Gerard discovered what I was doing. He was gone for a job interview when I started shoveling the food into my mouth and I didn't hear the door open when I was knelt in front of the toilet, throwing up. At first, he just thought I was sick, but then he realized that I hadn't been eating, or eating too much.

On the bright side; He got the job, which actually paid more than his previous, and we were able to go back to a normal budget. Bulimia was like my newfound addiction, beckoning to me when I felt hopeless, which was actually quite often. It was hard for me to recover from the eating disorder, but I did it without rehab this time.

It was a rough three years, especially every March and September when Gerard fought back his own depression. Each year on the anniversary of his brother's death, he would go to the florist and pick the first flowers he saw. It was an old way that he and Mikey had for deciding things, he explained; If they didn't know what to choose, they would close their eyes and pick something at random. It was all up to chance to choose for them. Afterwards, he would go to the grave and talk to him. I don't know what he said-- I always waited in the car until he came back with tear stained eyes and we drove away-- but I knew that he would leave a drawing of Mother War and a guitar pick with Mikey's name printed onto it. In September, Gerard would remember his brother's life and celebrate his birthday. It may sound kind of sadistic, but it's not like he hung balloons and sang Happy Birthday. He would spend the day at the cemetery again, this time bringing with him a chocolate cupcake-- Mikey's favorite. He would stick a red candle in the top and light the wick, leaving the flame alone at the grave until it blew out by itself. The faster it blew out, Gerard said, the closer Mikey was to him. That's why he normally left right after igniting the wick; He didn't want to know how long it took to disperse. If the flame lasted all night, he didn't want to believe that Mikey was so far away.

We were fucked up. We both knew that and we accepted it. It didn't matter that one of us was an unemployed recovering drug addict and that one treated his dead brother as though he were still alive. It didn't matter what Gerard said or did; I loved him with everything I had left in my fucked up, damaged heart.


	4. Chapter 4

I fix the sleeves of my grey sweatshirt. I've only had it on for two minutes and the hot fabric is already sticking uncomfortably to my skin. I sigh, pulling the shirt off over my head and tossing it onto the bed. "Gerard?" I call, making my way back to the closet. Most of my clothes are either dirty or already packed in boxes in the corner of the room and I only have about ten minutes left to get ready. "Can I borrow your black shirt?" Ruffling through the few hanging clothes-- some T-shirts, a couple pairs of jeans, really anything that made the closet seem less empty and unused-- I didn't hear the bedroom door open.

"Which black shirt?" Gerard asks and I spin around, almost peeing myself and jumping behind the rack of swaying clothes. I cling onto some random fabric-- a jacket, I think-- and pull it against my chest. The sound of metal against metal rings in my ears when the hanger's balance on the rack wavers. I only catch a glimpse of Gerard, leaning against the doorframe, before spinning back around to face the wall.

I close my eyes and bite down on my lip, hating the feeling of more than just the leather on my skin. I can feel his eyes on my back, my arms, and I shake my head. "Can you give me a second?" I ask in a shaky breath.

"Frank..." The sadness in his voice makes me clamp my eyes shut even tighter. I hate that sadness, I hate knowing that I'm the cause of it. "Frank, please." I feel the ghost of a hand moving near my shoulder, his hesitation to touch me, especially when I cringe away from the almost-contact. "Please... Can you please look at me?"

I inhale deeply before shaking my head again, but looking at him wasn't my problem. I didn't want  _him_  looking at  _me_. Still, he doesn't move. I hear the faint noise of feet shuffling against carpet as he steps closer, this time his fingertips brushing ever so lightly against my shoulder. I swallow hard, but don't shift away. I let him touch me. His slim fingers move down my arm, skimming over the dark, indented scars that cluster on the skin. His breath hits my neck and I shiver, not realizing he was so close. The closest he's ever been, in a way.

It's been almost three years I've been with Gerard, since my suicide attempt in high school and finding my skeleton boy, and this is the most exposed he's ever seen me. And it's fucking  _terrifying_.

I keep my eyes closed, facing away from him, too scared to see the look on his face when he sees what I've done to myself.

In the past three years, I've done my best to keep my body hidden. The self-harm scars and the battle wounds, all concealed under a long sleeved shirt and pants at all times. The simple thought of him seeing  _all_  of me scared me more than anything else-- He would see exactly how damaged I was. And who wants damaged goods? He would leave, realize that he deserves better than me, and I would be left alone again. Though maybe it was better that way; I couldn't hurt him if he left me. I didn't want to hurt him...

Gerard sighs again and I feel his lips brush against the skin between my neck and shoulder. "You're so beautiful, Frank." He mumbles.

I shake my head, not believing his words as they're muffled against my flesh. I don't have time to argue before Gerard's hand wraps around my wrist and I'm spun around to face him. My eyelids come up and I catch sight of his breathtaking hazel eyes. They bore into mine, a vivid intensity clouding the gold and green swirl of colors. His forehead is crinkled in concentration as he watches me, his eyes flicking to each of mine. "I know what you're going to say, and please don't," He sighs. He looks just as scared as I feel. "I know you think you're not beautiful, but you are. You're the most amazing person I've ever met and I love you.  _All_  of you." He looks down at my arms, the wrists he has lightly grasped in each of his hands. I follow his gaze to the the pink, puckered marks. Tens, if not hundreds of them. I lost count a long time ago though I can still point out exactly which ones were my last. The day I tried to kill myself, three years ago. Four swift, almost graceful, lines. Thin and short, a lighter pink than the others, just left of the vein.

Gerard's hand brushes over the marks, as if he knows which ones I'm looking at. I watch as the tips of his fingers move gently across the skin, up to a larger, round scar on my forearm. He knows what that's from, too. Just after graduation when Bob found me in the bathroom. I didn't remember burning myself, but I was told the wound, as well as the burnt out cigarette on the floor, was evidence that I had.

"All of your quirks," He mumbles, his voice barely audible in the confines of the small closet. "All of your problems, your depressions and your failures..." His voice cracks and I look up at him, though he's still watching my arms. "They're all a part of you, Frankie. I can't take back anything that happened and I can't change it. I can't just erase your scars like they're made of pencil. I can't make it disappear. But I can promise you--" His hands drop my own, moving in shaky movements to his own shirt. Fingers fumbling with the hem of his sleeve, he rolls the fabric up to expose faint white lines. They cluster his wrist and move upward to where the material still covers. I can't hold back the surprised gasp I feel in my throat when he looks up and his eyes, rimmed with red and tears, meet mine again. "I can promise you that you're not alone."

My chest rises and falls with uneven breaths as the bitter truth hits me, making my blood run cold and my lungs feel crushed under the weight. "Gerard." My mouth feels dry, my eyes wet. "You..."

The man before me nods in response to my unspoken question, the words not seeming to move past the lump in my throat. "I started cutting when I was fourteen," He admits. Shrugging and looking ashamed, he glances down at his feet. "It just got worse when Mikey died. I told you I started drawing Mother War because it helped me breathe again. Before her, I didn't know how to cope. I spent everyday in my bedroom, staring at the stuff he left behind, waiting for him to walk back through the door." He lets out a soft sob and shakes his head, still focusing on the ground under his feet and wiping a hand across his nose. "I stopped self-harming when I started drawing Mother War. It was kind of a revelation-- I could keep hurting, or I could direct all of that pain into creating something." Suddenly Gerard looks back at me, his eyes full of desperation and sadness. "I know it hurts," He says. One hand lifts and his skin grazes just under my eye, wiping away a single tear I didn't realize had fallen over. "But I want you to trust me. I'm not leaving you, no matter what. You don't have to hide these." His fingers brush again over my scars, the sensation sending sparks shooting through me. "They're a part of you. And you are beautiful."

Maybe I don't fully believe him, maybe I just want to hear those words again, or maybe I'm blinded by the overwhelming desperation to feel that his heart was still beating, but I lunge forward and wrap my arms around Gerard's waist. Resting my ear against his chest, I hear it-- The faint sound of a heartbeat. A constant reminder that he was here with me. That he was still breathing and I really wasn't as alone as I felt sometimes. With his arms around me, I breathe in the scent of him, memorizing every single detail about this moment.

However, the moment ends much too soon as the sound of a knock echoes through the small apartment and I reluctantly let Gerard go, wiping at my eyes again. He smiles down at me, brushing his fingers through my hair and giving me one sweet, chaste kiss. "I'll go get the door," He says. "Finish getting ready." He reaches behind me to the rack of clothes and pulls down a black button-up shirt. He hands it out for me. "Here. You can borrow it if you want."

I can hear the unspoken words that follow the sentence, but he says nothing more as he turns and leaves the room. I hear the sound of voices but don't move for a few minutes. Contemplating the choice, I tap my fingers against the hanger in my hands. When another knock on the door sounds, I take a deep breath before tossing the long-sleeved shirt on the bed and moving to the dresser against the wall.

Ten minutes later, when I finally emerge from the bedroom, fully clothed, I'm surprised the sound of my heart isn't audible. I can feel the adrenaline pulsing through my veins, stress eating away at my stomach, and I have to force my feet forward into the tiny kitchen, already holding four other familiar faces.

"Hey," I manage a shy smile and stuff my hands into the pockets of my jeans. All eyes in the room focus on me, but I can only watch Gerard, who watches me with a proud smile on his pale pink lips. I feel a small blush heat up my cheeks and look down, seeing the flesh of my arms that are usually hidden under sleeves, now on display by the T-shirt that covers my chest.

I hear a small gasp and look up, biting down on my lip. I know this is the first time two of the three guests have seen my scars and I'm prepared for a shocked reaction, but the first person just steps forward and I'm pulled into a hug.

"Frank!" Ash squeals happily. "It has been way too fucking long since I've seen you!" 

I laugh, hugging the girl back, before the next person steps forward and I'm engulfed in another embrace. Bob smiles at me, telling me I look great and that I need to venture into the light of day more often. They were both right in a way; I barely left the apartment and I hadn't seen any of my friends since October, when Gerard convinced me to invite them over for my birthday. It had only been Ash and Bob then, as it was now, but today a third person joined the gathering.

When I stepped out of Bob's hug, I turn to the familiar man near Gerard's side. "Ray," I grin. The older man still looks the same as I remember, though I haven't seen him since I got out of rehab nearly a year ago. He had come to see me at the rehabilitation center a few times, but coming back home with just Gerard had been hard enough and I hadn't seen him since.

Now, I walk up to him and pull him into a hug. He returns the embrace, leaning down and lowering his mouth to my ear, speaking only loud enough for me to hear his words. "I'm so proud of you, Frank."

I feel another genuine smile light up my face, moving away to look at each of the friends that surround me. My boyfriend and the only three people who have been here for me all this time. The people I loved and the people who loved me. My family.


	5. Chapter 5

I watch the metal utensil as spoonfuls of the burnt casserole are scooped out onto each plate. I avert my gaze, staring intently at the pale white tablecloth covering the wooden surface. My hands are twisted together in my lap as I sit quietly at my place, chair pulled up to the table across from Ash. Next to her, Bob is talking avidly with Gerard, who's chair is tucked neatly close to the table to my right, Ray's to my left.

I can feel his eyes on me but he says nothing. The sound of chatter fills my ears though I keep my eyes focused on the table until a plate is still into place in front of me and I glance up. Gerard smiles at me, his hazel eyes conveying some concern when he nods toward the bedroom door and asks, "Can I talk to you for a minute?"

Swallowing hard, I force a nod and push my chair out. I follow Gerard into the bedroom, watching as as he closes the door behind him and turns to face me, worry now evidently creasing in his eyebrows. "Are you okay, Frank?"

I nod again, the gesture seeming a little too fervent. I bite down on my lip, feeling the panic swelling inside of me. I stare at him for only a few seconds longer before tears spring to my eyes and I'm shaking my head. "No," I admit. "I thought I could do this, Gee, but I can't. They're all fucking watching me and I burnt the fucking casserole and I--"

"Shh, calm down, Frankie." Gerard steps forward, wrapping his arms around me and running a hand through my hair, trying to make me relax. I let out a shaky sob and breathe out in relief, feeling his warmth surrounding me and making my panic settle a little. I pull him closer and bury my face in his chest. A few long moments pass and my breathing becomes normal, but I stay in the embrace, clutching onto Gerard's shirt. He doesn't move away when he says, "You're doing great, Frank. Nobody can expect you to act like everything is normal after everything we've been through."

I shake my head, sniffling and trying to keep my voice from quivering. "I'm trying, Gerard," I promise him.

"I know you are." I feel his slim fingers as they slip under my chin, bringing my face up to his and locking our eyes. "Frank, I know you're trying. And I'm so proud of you." A smile graces his lips as he studies me. "You're trying so hard to overcome your anxiety and I can see that. You're wearing a short sleeved shirt, for fucks sake," He laughs, making my own smile grow wider. "Believe me, I know you're trying. But they're your friends. They want you to get better, too, and they're not going to judge you. They love you." He grins deviously and leans down to capture my lips with his. "Almost as much as I do."

I laugh and give him only a quick kiss before twisting out of his grasp and smiling. Swallowing hard, I cross my arms. "We should get back out there," I state, making no move toward the door.

Gerard nods slowly, partially in agreement, though he waits a moment longer, scrutinizing me like he's trying to decide if I'm really ready to face my friends or not. When he's reached his verdict, he bites his lip and reaches out to me, lacing his fingers through mine and leading me back out into the kitchen.

Ash is staring awkwardly down at her plate, poking the food and taking meager bites. She glances over at Bob, who is practically inhaling his food. Ray is the first to look up when Gerard and I come back into the small room. I sit down, offering an attempt at a reassuring smile.

When I've managed to choke down at least half of my food, finishing my second glass of iced tea, Gerard clears his throat, though nobody is speaking, and all attention is turned to him. I look over at him as well. "So umm..." He starts, looking nervous. Under the table, I reach into his lap and intertwine our fingers, squeezing gently. He glances over at me, smirking, before focusing on our friends, this time with more confidence. "So we asked you guys over today because we needed to tell you something--"

"Oh my fuck, you're getting married!" Ash squeals. Her painted red lips stretch into a grin and she bounces in the wooden chair, clapping her hands together.

My head cocks to one side and I laugh, shaking my head. "What? How the hell did you come up with that?"

"Well," She sighs dramatically, gesturing between Gerard and myself. "You guys are nervous and happy. Either you're engaged or pregnant and one of those things is not possible."

Gerard laughs this time, looking over at me before back to Ash. "No, we're not getting married." He chuckles, glancing down at our hands, clasped in his lap, and running his thumb over my knuckles. "I love this man to pieces but I don't really think marriage is in the near future."

"Yeah," I agree. "I'm not ready to get married. That shit's expensive." I shrug. "Besides, I don't need some sheet of paper to solidify what we have."

"A ring might be nice some day, though," Gerard interjects, chuckling and looking over at me. "But that's not the point," He shakes his head and looks back to the others. Taking a deep breath, the words are eventually forced from his mouth. "Frank and I are moving."

Silence falls over the table as I regard everyone's individual reaction. Ray seems to understand immediately, a small smile forming on his lips. His silent approval. Bob looks emotionless, watching us with a straight face and creased eyebrows. Ash frowns in confusion, glancing between the two of us. "Wait, like to a different apartment?" She wonders, her voice sounding sadder the more words she speaks. "Or like...  _Away_?"

I bite down on my lip, trying not to let the grin I feel form on my face. "Away," I explain. I look over at Gerard who is making no effort to hide his smile. "We're in contract on a house in Ohio. A real house, not a cramped little apartment, but an actual  _house_." I can't fight the grin anymore and eagerly let it come forward.

"How can you guys afford a house?" Bob asks, but before either of us has the chance to reply, Ash slaps the back of his head. He flinches and turns to face her. Her eyes widen and she shakes her head slightly, silently telling  him to shut up.

But Gerard just laughs and leans forward. "No, Bob's right," He says, shrugging. "The house was in foreclosure, so it was already super cheap. I got approved for a loan from the bank that will cover the down payment and then from there..." He glances over at me again, looking sheepish. "Well, this one is a surprise for everyone." He turns in his seat to face me full on, taking both of my hands in his and making me nervous. Gerard breathes in and his face spreads into a grin once more. "I told you that I was getting transferred to an office in Columbus," He explains. "But I didn't tell you everything. The office in Columbus isn't just another desk job, playing secretary. It's a full time animator. They're assigning me to a group in Ohio that creates some stuff for Cartoon Network and promoting me to set designer."

My mouth falls open and I'm shocked for a long moment, taking in this new information, before I realize what he's telling me. He got a promotion. To an amazing job that he'll love more than his current one of paid intern that answers phones and verifies paperwork. He'll actually get to be on set, working with other creators, helping animate and design scene set-up. I lunge forward, wrapping him in a hug and burying my face in the crook of his neck. "Gerard, I'm so happy for you," I mumble.

He laughs softly, kissing my cheek and hugging me tighter. Maybe we'll actually be okay. We're leaving New Jersey, we're getting a new life away from everything and everyone we've ever known. We're really starting over. This could be a new life for us and maybe everything will actually turn out okay.


	6. Chapter 6

I watch from my perch on the kitchen counter as Gerard fights to fit the leftover casserole into a single container, my legs swinging back and forth. His mouth twists up on one side as he pushes the lid down, squishing the contents in the plastic container, before leaning back and smiling proudly. Then, tossing the pan in the sink and food in the near empty fridge, Gerard comes to stand in front of me. My kicking legs freeze when his open palms rest on each of my knees.

Gerard tilts his head to one side, watching me for a moment before speaking. "I think tonight turned out nicely," He mumbles. "Don't you think?"

I nod in agreement, with only a degree of sarcasm. "Aside from the burnt casserole, the blister on my hand from my poor attempt to save said casserole, and my almost-meltdown before dinner, tonight went swimmingly."

Gerard shakes his head, but a small smile graces his pink lips. "You did amazing," He says. I only hum in response as he leans in to kiss me softly, the gesture ending too soon when he pulls away and runs a hand through his unkempt black hair. "Are you tired?"

I bite my lip and nod, not trusting my voice to lie. Honestly, I'm more awake than I've been all day, but I hop down from the counter regardless and stretch. "I need to pee," I say. "You go on in, I'll be in in a second."

Gerard gives me one more quick peck on the lips before he wanders into the bedroom. Alone, I take a deep breath and move to the bathroom. I stare at myself in the mirror for at least twelve and a half minutes, taking in the sight of my own reflection. My hip bones jut out, obvious beneath my pale skin, but my ribs only show if I suck in. I'm gaining the weight I lost when I was bulimic, and I at least look somewhat normal now. Gerard tells me I need to gain more still, but he understands that the recovery process is slow. My eyes are wide and bright, the hazel practically glowing under the too-bright ceiling light. And then there's my arms, stained with the mingling pale and somber scars. I know my thighs are decorated with the same marks, but I can't bring myself to actually look at them, so my pants remain on. I know that if I take them off now, I may back out of what I'm about to do. The doubt is already swarming my head and making me feel nauseous. I can't back out now...

I bite down on my lip and give my reflection a reassuring nod, turning and leaving the bathroom. Across the small living room area, holding only a ratty old sofa and television, is the door to the bedroom I share with Gerard. I only hesitate for a second outside before twisting the knob and pushing the door open.

Gerard is already in bed, leaning back against the plain white wall with a sketchbook in his lap. His hand jerks across the page, but he glances up when I walk in. His quick glance becomes longer, his sketchbook dropping to the floor, and he smiles up at me.

"I want to see your scars," I state. The nervous ball in my stomach twists and turns, making my voice sound slightly shaky, but I manage to take a tiny step closer to him, my voice dropping. "And I want to show you mine."

Gerard's eyes widen a bit and he pushes the blankets covering him off, climbing on his knees to the center of the bed. He nods slowly, patting the mattress next to him but I don't sit just yet, taking another step and shaking my head slowly. "Gerard, I trust you. And I love you more than anything. And I want to show you that."

His eyebrows furrow and he frowns. "Frank, I know that. You don't have to prove that you love me. I'm so happy that you're starting to open up about your scars, but you don't have to show me them if you're not ready."

I swallow hard, a small giggle escaping past the lump growing in my throat. "You don't get it," I say, taking one final step. I'm at the end of the bed now, my nerve endings all buzzing with excitement and adrenaline. My gaze is fixed with his own dark hazel eyes and, with shaking hands, I push on the fabric of my plaid pajama pants. They drop to the floor, pooling around my ankles and leaving me in only a pair of boxers. "Gerard," I bite down on my lip, trying my hardest not to cover myself up. "I'm ready to show you  _everything_."

His mouth falls open and there's a moment of panic where I think he may reject me. Seeing this much of me for the first time, perhaps it's too much for him and he doesn't want this. Oh God, that never even occurred to me.  _What if he doesn't want this?_  The entire time, all three years we spent together, we didn't have sex because I wasn't ready. I made that clear, and it never came up what Gerard wanted. Maybe he didn't want it either. Maybe he still doesn't.

But when Gerard crawls forward on his hands and knees, meeting me at the end of the bed, the sudden seductive gleam in his hazel eyes is too much to deny. He doesn't kiss me right away, his eyes level with mine, searching. "We don't have to do this, Frankie," He persists. "I don't want you to feel like you have to. You know that, right?"

I can't help the grin that stretches across my face, the nervous ball in my stomach warming and unclenching a little. "I know," I say. "I  _want_  to."

Gerard nods slowly and finally pushes his lips to mine. The kiss is slow and deliberate, tantalizing and addictive. There's a passionate urgency to the touch that's never been present before, a spark that surges between our bodies like lightning. I force my movements to remain unrushed, focusing on every little detail of his movements. The way his hands graze my skin like I'm made of glass, his touch gentle and sweet, makes me shiver. Chills run through me when the tips of his fingers trail down my spine and I arch into him.

It's scary. As I lie on the mattress beneath him, exposed and writhing with anticipation. It's like nothing I've ever felt before, lying myself out as if I'm an exhibit, and Gerard is watching me like I'm one, too. His hands move everywhere, skimming my skin with only fingertips before allowing his nails to drag behind, adding pressure and making me breathe in sharply. His eyes take in every part of me-- My scars, my parted lips, my chest rising and falling. My hands twist in the sheets because I'm not really sure what else to do with them, but then something catches my attention; There, lining the inside of Gerard's arm, are marks much like my own. I raise a hand to them, tentatively touching the pale blemishes. Goosebumps arise on his exposed flesh and he looks down at me, waiting for a reaction. And in that moment, seeing the complete and utter vulnerability in his dark gaze, I can tell that he's just as scared as I am.

I reach up, wrapping an arm around the back of his neck and pulling his mouth back down to mine. It's everything-- It's opening up, both of us putting ourselves on display, showing all we had-- and it's the most incredible feeling in the world. The fear seemed to dwindle down, heat and untamed passion surging up instead and taking it's place. That doesn't mean I didn't bite down on my lip, panic momentarily swelling inside me, when Gerard finally says, "I don't... I don't have a condom."

With those simple words, the realization of what we're about to do hits me. For a split second, terror overcomes me, but it's just as quickly gone when I look up into Gerard's eyes. Concern clouds the hazel hue and I know he can sense my sudden doubt. "Frank--" He starts, but I shake my head and kiss him instead.

"We don't need one," I mumble. As Ash so kindly stated at dinner, pregnancy was not an issue here. Both Gerard and I were clean, never having done anything like this before. But really, both of those reasons were minor in my mind. This was the moment where I was opening up to Gerard and I didn't want anything, even a thin latex barrier, to come between that. To come between  _us_. As soon as the words are out, though, my mouth goes dry. "Unless you want to use one," I hurry on. This wasn't just about what I wanted. I needed to make sure that Gerard wanted this, too.

He simply smiles at me, capturing my lips again. "I love you so much, Frank," He says, and with that response comes his answer. No barrier, no impedance. Nothing between us. Just us. I was showing all of myself to Gerard, giving myself to him, and it was terrifying. But the fact that he was doing the same for me made it all worth it.

_[Insert sex scene that I'm not going to write! :D Use your imagination, you perverts...]_

•••

Tucked into Gerard's side, his fingertips trace patterns on my shoulder. A lit cigarette dangles from his other hand, smoke filling my lungs with the scent of sweet sweat. My palm is resting on his bare chest, the beat of his heart reaching me and claiming me with serenity. When he finally dabs the thin stick out in the bedside ashtray, Gerard rolls over onto his side to face me. His fingers link with mine and I use the new position to turn his arm. The sight of pale scars awaits me again and I trace a few of them with the tip of my fingers.

"Why didn't you tell me before?" I wonder. My voice is nearly silent in the still of the bedroom and I glance back up at Gerard just to make sure he hasn't fallen asleep. He's watching me, though. "Three years we've been together and I never knew you used to do...  _this_. Why did you keep it from me?"

Gerard shrugs, biting down on his lip and looking kind of ashamed. Sighing, he brushes a few fingers through my matted hair. "I wanted to be strong. For you. I know the past three years haven't been easy for you, and I guess I thought, that if you knew, it would just hurt you more." He pauses and I feel his leg against mine under the sheets. "I don't really know why I didn't show you them before-- It's not like I was hiding them, per se. I just... didn't want you to know I was damaged."

I laugh darkly and shake my head. "If you're damaged, then I'm fucking broken beyond repair." My eyebrows crease as I watch him and I squeeze the hand I still hold. "Gerard, you're beautiful. You're amazing and wonderful and perfect. I would never think of you as damaged." I pause, licking my lips and watching him intently. "I'm not mad that you didn't show me-- I get it completely. I hid mine from you, too. I know that you've been through some shit. We both have. But..." I scoot closer to him, my nose almost touching his. "We're getting better, right?"

"Yeah," Gerard grins. "Like you've said before, we're both fucked up. But we're fixing each other."

I smile and nestle my head into the crook of his neck, draping one leg over his and sighing as his arms wrap around me. Falling asleep with him, I knew he was right; We were fixing each other. Maybe things wouldn't stay perfect forever, but in this moment, everything was the way it should be, because it was Gerard and I together and I could feel some unseen scars already starting to heal. 


	7. Chapter 7

I shift again in the passengers seat, pulling my legs up onto the seat with me and hugging my knees to my chest. I watch through the glass of the closed window to where Gerard is talking to the landlord. I see him hand over the pair of identical silver keys and swallow hard. This is really it. There's no turning back, even if I wanted to. And a small part of me did. A tiny section of my body was actually aching at the thought of leaving this place-- Not just the apartment, but Belleville. New Jersey. When Gerard got back into the car, he would shift into drive and we would be leaving our entire lives behind with the Jersey skyline. And part of me wasn't ready to do that.

A bigger part of me, though, was going to start jogging toward the state line if Gerard didn't hurry his ass up.

As if my thoughts were spoken aloud, Gerard turns to our waiting car, his eyes meeting mine as a grin spreads across his face. He could feel it, too-- The excitement and terror both creating a pulsing adrenaline that coursed through my veins. He says one last thing to the landlord, whose name I had never bothered to remember, and offers a half-hearted wave before turning back to me. His feet leave indistinct and barely visible prints in the already slushy snow. The weather, only just above freezing, was slowly morphing, fading from the bitter end of winter into the only slightly warmer crisp air of early Spring.

The drivers side door opens and I cringe against the assault of cold air, immediately reaching for the heat dial on the dashboard and turning it up. Gerard doesn't say anything as he slides into his seat, casting a crooked smile in my direction and shifting the gear. I can taste the iron on my tongue when I bite too hard on my lip, watching in the side-view mirror as the brick building disappears behind us, but there's also a feeling in my chest that seems to filter through me. It's like a ball of worry that was twisted just behind my ribs, finally unraveling itself and spreading out with my blood, pouring in waves to the very tips of my fingers and loosening it's grip on my lungs. And when we actually reach the large white sign, the blocky red and elegant blue paint welcoming us into Ohio, I feel it once again, that release of everything that seemed to be holding me back, and I'm finally able to breathe.

•••

Cracked concrete leads from the unevenly paved narrow driveway to the front of the house. Mud and grass peek through the crevices where the snow has mostly melted, heeding way to a warmer Spring that what was waiting back in Jersey. It didn't feel much warmer here, not with the fading sunlight and mid-evening air that hung thick around us. As I take the first step out of the car, moving around the hood to stand at Gerard's side, it seems to catch in my throat and my breathing hitches. And then Gerard sticks out a hand and I can see the hint of a smile he's fighting back. "Ready?"

I nod and take his hand. If not for the contact, his palm pressed against mine, fingers lacing together, I might not have had the courage to take another step closer. But together we follow the rough path to the front of the house. The walkway is barely wide enough to fit us side by side, but we manage to make it to the front steps, three stone blocks leading to the off-white door. I look up at the house, a two story pale yellow building. From here, I can see a few distinct faults; The paint, both outside and probably in, is old and peeling. One window on the second floor is cracked clear down the middle and another on the lower level is missing completely with a black tarp stapled into place instead.

I feel Gerard's hand, still in mine, shaking slightly as he fumbles in his pocket. A moment later, he produces a single key, putting it into the lock. The click of the deadbolt sliding echoes in my ears and when Gerard pushes the door open, I feel frozen in place. There's a long second of hesitation, complete terror swelling inside of me as I stare into the dark house laid out before me. But Gerard nudges my shoulder with his and pockets the key again. "Do you want to go inside?"

And it's in that moment that I realize my choice, the real question behind his words. Am I ready to go into the new house? Am I ready to leave everything, not just the past three years, but my entire life behind me? Am I ready to start over? Am I ready to move on? I squeeze Gerard's hand and nod, forcing myself to take the first step over the threshold into my new life.

•••

His chest is pale, smooth and hot under my fingertips as I trace obscure patterns across the exposed flesh. A thin layer of sweat glistens atop his chest, rising and falling beneath my touch. Whose sweat it is is a mystery, probably a mixture of both his and my own. I drape a leg over one of his, pulling him closer and feeling him shiver against me.

"Are you cold?" I mumble. The heat is on, slowly but surely filling our new house with warmth, but lying on the floor, even in a tangle of blankets, I can feel the chill of night creeping in through the broken window. The tarp helps keep it out for the most part, but some of the cold air manages to creep in, settling over us and cooling the sweat clinging to our bodies.

Still, Gerard shakes his head. "No. You're warm."

His lips press into my hair and I smile, shifting closer to him and closing my eyes. His own warmth seems to wrap around me, closer than the blanket draped across or lying under us. Tonight, our first night staying in the new house, was spent sleeping on the floor. Bob and Bert, a friend of Bob's from the group home who just so happened to own a truck, had offered to bring the rest of our things tomorrow.  Of course, Gerard and I didn't have that much more. We had decided to just buy a new bed, the wire-framed and rusting base not really fitting our needs so well after three years of use. The apartment was barely big enough to hold an old television and a worn out couch we had found on Craigslist a few years back. Still, I was hoping that once our things were here, the empty house would start to feel more like home. But even as I was tucked into Gerard's side right now, with a makeshift bed on the carpeted floor and the distinct smell of vacant rooms filling my lungs, it didn't feel like just some house. As long as he was here, it was already home.

•••

The car pulls to a sudden stop in a space in the Big Lots parking lot. The early morning sun beams down on the lot, successfully melting the last of the snow and drying up the pavement, leaving me tugging my leather jacket tighter against myself and biting down painfully on my lip. There are a few other cars parked in varying spaces, making the lot seem almost vacant near our own.

The sound of Gerard's door opening drags my attention to him and I watch as he climbs out of the car. Taking a deep breath and nodding determinedly, I unbuckle the seat-belt and follow Gerard out into the fresh Ohio air.

Gerard moves around the car, intertwining our fingers and giving my hand a gentle squeeze. Leaning in close, he kisses my cheek. "The faster we find a bed, the faster we can get home."

"And test it out?" I raise an eyebrow in question.

Gerard laughs and shakes his head. "I was thinking so we could be there by the time Bob and Bert arrive, but I'm sure we can find time to test the bed, too." I grin, Gerard's face lighting up with a matching gesture, and he tugs on my hand. "Come on. Let's go find a bed."

As it turns out, buying a bed is a lot harder than I originally thought. When Gerard suggested buying a new bed-frame, I assumed be meant one identical to our old one; Somewhat sturdy, metal base, and just big enough for the two of us. So when Gerard starts looking through larger, wooden-based beds, I bring it up, to which he simply laughs and shakes his head once more. "Our old bed was like a prison bed, Frankie," He says, checking the tag on a king sized black bedstead before pursing his lips and moving onto the next. "I want to get something nice this time."

"Can we afford nice?" I mutter under my breath, glancing at the tag Gerard just checked. My eyes bulge out of my skull and I huff out a shocked breath when I see the price is over two-thousand dollars. I drop the tag immediately, like just touching it will cost me money that we don't have. "I mean, I liked our prison bed."

Gerard casts a doubtful look back at me and rolls his eyes. "It was uncomfortable, it was small, it was breaking." He checks the tag of another bed before jumping up to sit on the mattress. His legs dangle from the side and he runs a few fingers across the white material. The bedstead is a dark brown color. Nothing special, but Gerard bounces on the mattress, seeming pleased with his find, before patting the space beside him. When I cross my arms, refusing to budge, he sighs. "I'm not buying a bed without your approval. Come at least see if you like it."

"Can we afford it?" I ask.

I wait for Gerard to roll his eyes dramatically and tilt his head to one side. "Yes, Frank. We can afford it. Now can you please help me choose a bed that doesn't look like it belongs in a prison cell?"

I wait for only a moment longer before giving in and moving to sit next to Gerard on the mattress. Begrudgingly, I fold both of my arms across my chest. "I still like the prison bed..." I mutter dryly. And then Gerard shifts on the bed, pushing me back flat on the mattress and climbing on top of me. My eyes widen at him as he straddles my waist, seeming completely casual with the fact that he's sitting on me, on a bed, in the middle of a store.

"Gerard!" My voice comes out as just a squeak. "What the hell are you doing!?"

Gerard purses his lips, looking deep in concentration as his brow furrows. "Hmm..." He hums, and then bounces, causing the mattress to move underneath us. "I think this is the one." He finally states. He looks back down at me, innocence settling over his smooth features. "Do you like this one?" I bite my lip against the initial reaction to demand for the second time what the hell he is doing when his hands land on my stomach. Not grabbing or groping just simply... resting there. However, when I don't answer his previous question, Gerard tilts his head to one side. "I said..." He repeats, this time emphasizing his words with the pressure of his fingers. I twitch against the gesture and try to wiggle away, but Gerard isn't budging. "Do you like this bed?"

But I can't answer even I had wanted to. My lungs are working too hard trying to catch a full breath of air as Gerard continues to tickle me. Within a minute, I'm laughing so hard my chest hurts, Gerard's giggle mingling with mine because he seems to be enjoying this. "Okay, fine!" I laugh, breathless. "Fine, yes! I like the bed! I like this one!"

This seems to be the answer Gerard was wanting because the tickling ceases and Gerard leans back, looking proud of himself. "Good." He grins, lowering himself to give me a single kiss before straightening up and climbing off of the bed, leaving me to follow. "I'm gonna go pay for the bed then," He informs me, a pleased smirk on his lips, and gestures with one hand to the nearby aisle lined with various decor. "Do you wanna go look for a lamp for the bedroom?"

I know what he's doing, and the thought makes me cringe inwardly. He's trying to encourage me to be more outgoing, to overcome my anxiety. Small steps for now, sending me off to where he could still see me, but far enough away so that I would be on my own. In public. Around other people. But I want to make him proud, to show him that I am getting better, so I nod and force a small smile. "Sure."

I make my way slowly across the tiled floor, shuffling my feet against the ground at a meager pace in no hurry to get away from Gerard. Stuffing both hands into my pockets, I force myself to focus on my assigned task; Picking out a lamp. I feel the overpowering urge to just grab the first light I see and run back to him, but I know that this is a big deal; I'm going to do this on my own, and I want Gerard to know I  _can_  do it on my own. Still, when I'm faced with the shelves lined with different bedside lamps, I find myself sweating. My eyes move in jerky movements around the aisle, the choices seeming to overwhelm me as much as the fact that I'm away from Gerard. I shrug off my jacket, clutching it tight with one hand as I run the other nervously through my hair.

I check the price tag of every lamp on the lowest shelf, mentally removing each one as an option when I see the numbers. When I get to the second shelf, reaching out with one hand to check the tag, I hear the voices. I can't make out distinct words, but the fact that there are voices near me immediately puts me on high alert and I look up. My eyes land on a small group of kids, probably mid-teens, standing in a cluster at the end of the aisle. Two boys and a girl, the girls voice low as both boys watch me quietly. The girl looks up and says something else I can't make out. However, I see the small gesture as she motions to her arm and then points back in my direction. I look down at myself, only now realizing that I've taken off my jacket. Short sleeves reveal the scars that line both of my arms, standing out, distinct against my pale skin. When I glance up again, the girl is watching me, too, trying to look inconspicuous and failing miserably. I can't hear the words, but I know exactly what they're saying.

I take a small step backwards, my eyes shifting in panic back to where Gerard had been standing, only to see that's he's disappeared from sight. Of course, this only incites more terror and I feel my heart pounding painfully in my chest. My breathing has become shallow and I reach out a hand to steady myself. Bad move, as the simple movement touches a single lamp, causing it to fall to the ground and shatter. Black and white shards of ceramic spin off in every direction, moving like ice against the tile. Still, I can't seem to make my mind focus on the mess I've made, as the teens from down the aisle are openly gawking at me now.

"Gerard?" My voice is barely audible, my lungs seeming to have stopped working and the words get stuck in my throat. "Gee?" I try again, glancing around. I can't breathe. Why are they just watching me!?

The room starts spinning, the shelves moving out of focus and I stumble back only a step before strong hands wrap about my arms, holding me upright. My vision is taken over when my eyes meet familiar hazel iris', wide and panicked pupils staring back. "Frankie?" His voice reveals the same alarm and it takes me a moment before I realize who's standing in front of me. "Shh, Frank. Calm down. Just look at me, okay? I'm right here. Slow down, just breathe. Alright? Breathe. I'm here."

I feel the sting of air hitting my lungs again and my mind focuses enough for me to realize that I'm shaking, breathing hard and fast, and my eyes are wet. "Gerard?" I say, this time the word leaving my mouth sounding hoarse and scared. I lean into him, his arms wrapping around me while my hands clutch clumsily at the front of his shirt. Tears are falling freely now and I make no move to see if we still have an audience. "I'm so sorry, Gerard. I'm so sorry."

A hand strokes through my hair, brushing it back as he hushes me again, just holding me close. "No, Frankie. This is not your fault okay? I'm so sorry I left you. The guy said that I had to sign something and--" He breaks off the words, shaking his head and sighing into my hair. "I'm so sorry."

I want to tell him that this isn't his fault; It's not his fault that I have anxiety and can't be around people. It's not his fault that my arms are like an exhibit at a museum, that they're scarred or that I'm damaged. None of it is his fault. But somehow I can't seem to find the words, and I settle with just crying into his shirt, wondering silently if I'll ever actually get better or if it will be like this forever.


	8. Chapter 8

Shifting on the sofa, the old wooden legs protest beneath me as I cross my legs. The red and black mug is pressed to my lips, steam filling my lungs while the coffee warms my hands and burns my tongue. Gerard falls onto the couch next to me and I narrow my eyes at him begrudgingly. "I could have helped, you know."

He smirks, looking at me sideways. "I know."

I'd been sitting in the same spot for the past two hours as Gerard, with the help of Bob and Bert, unloaded the rest of our belongings. I'd watched helplessly as they shuffled past me, setting things up and moving things around. Every time Gerard passed me, I'd lean forward and, in a small voice, say, "Do you guys need help? I can help. Do you need help?"

And each time, he would simply shake his head with a smile and tell me that they had it under control.

I huff out a breath and take another stinging drink. Gerard is full-on grinning now, climbing across the small sofa to me. He tenderly takes the mug from my grasp, moving it to the coffee table now positioned about a foot away. His hand takes ahold of my own and he pulls me toward him. Sighing, somewhat disgruntled, I allow myself to lean into him. Somehow, I end up curled against Gerard's side, my head resting on his chest while a few fingers stroke in patterns down my back.

"I still could have helped," I grumble. With one foot, I nudge his legs apart and settle with draping one of my own across them.

Gerard chuckles, glancing down at me. He shrugs. "I know you had a bad day," He admits in a low voice. "I just wanted you to relax."

I shift again, sitting up in a way that leaves me straddling his waist as I look down at him. "I had a panic attack," I nod, biting down on my lip. "But I don't want to be useless Gerard. I felt completely useless just sitting here watching as you guys did all the work."

Gerard is shaking his head, brows creased as he watches me. "You'll never be useless, Frankie," He promises me. One hand cups the side of my face, the pad of his thumb running across my jaw. "I never want you to feel like you are."

I shrug limply. "I just... I know that I have issues. I can't be around people without freaking out. I live in a constant state of fear that one day you'll realize you deserve so much better than me and--"

A sad smile plays across Gerard's lips. "There isn't any better," He states. "You are perfect, Frank. Everything about you is amazing and I don't want anyone else."

I want to argue with him. I want to disagree and tell him that dating a cactus would be a better choice than me, but the burning light flickering in his hazel eyes leaves me speechless. He loves me. It remains a mystery why or how, but he does. And I'd be lost without him.

I lower my lips to his, kissing him softly. One hand slips around to the back of my neck, pulling me closer, while the other settles on my hip. "Frankie?" He mumbles, his mouth never once leaving my own. I swallow the words, humming a soft "hmm" in response. "Do you think we could test out the new bed now?"

I pull back slightly and grin at him, biting my lip before nodding and clambering off of him. Taking his hand in mine, I drag him from the sofa toward the stairs.

•••

The weekend passes quickly. Much too quick for my liking, as when Monday morning rolls around, the alarm buzzing incessantly and waking both Gerard and I, I don't want to get up. Instead, I shuffle closer to Gerard and throwing an arm over his chest. "I don't like the new bed," I decide in a tired voice. "It's too big. In the prison bed, we were smooshed together. Now when we wake up, you're on the other side of the bed. I don't like it."

Gerard chuckles and places a lazy kiss to the side of my mouth and smirks. "Well good morning to you, too."

"Good morning," I smile. When he pulls away, I twist a hand in his black hair and bring him back to my lips. He allows the kisses to continue for a few minutes, lazy and tired, open-mouthed and close-eyed. But when he eventually groans and begins to stand up, I frown. "Do you have to go to work?" I ask.

It's a futile attempt, but Gerard's nods anyway, stretching and casting me a amused glance. "I don't think it would look very good if I missed the first day of my new job."

"Fine," I sit up on the bed, straightening some of the tangled sheets as they drape over my legs. I watch as Gerard moves into the attached bathroom. "But what am I supposed to do all day?"

He appears a moment later, leaning against the door-frame and speaking around a toothbrush. "What do you usually do when I'm at work?"

I glance around the near empty room before shrugging. "Wait for you to get home."

Gerard raises an eyebrow in my direction before retreating back into the bathroom to spit. This time, I can hear the water starting in the shower. "I'm serious, Frankie," He replies, his voice risen to be heard over the new sound. "I mean, you had the whole apartment to yourself everyday. What did you do all the time?"

I shrug again, picking at a piece of lint that sticks to the linen. "I don't know," I admit. "There was that one week when all I did was alphabetize the kitchen."

That activity, however, was less about my boredom and more about making Gerard feel better. It was just after he found out about my bulimia; I figured that if the food was in order, it would be easier to keep track of what we had. We could see if anything was missing, so if I purged again, he would know. 

"I remember that," Gerard laughs. "You were so pissed when I bought groceries and you had to start all over."

I remain quiet for the remainder of his shower and, a few minutes later, the water shuts off and Gerard emerges from the bathroom with a towel hanging loose on his hips. Another is in his hands, running it through his wet hair. As he rifles through a box near the wall, still unpacked, for a change of clothes, he glances at me over his shoulder with a sly smirk in place. "You could always go get to know the neighbors."

Crossing my arms, I set him with as strong of a glare as I can muster. "That's not fucking funny."

Gerard just continues smiling, chuckling softly, and pulls free a pair of jeans. Tossing them onto the bed, he turns to face me. "I'm just saying," He shrugs. "They haven't been over yet. Either we have very unfriendly neighbors or they're waiting until we get settled in to send the welcome wagon."

My eyes immediately widen in terror. There's a truth to his taunting and I feel the panic beginning to worm it's way through my stomach. "What do I do if someone comes to the door and you're not home?" I demand.

Gerard finds a T-shirt, pulling it on over his head. "Nothing," He replies easily. He meets my gaze and smiles softly. "Frank, you don't have to open the door. You can ignore it completely, okay? You know I'm just teasing you about greeting the neighbors."

"I know," I sigh, leaning back against the headboard. "Hey, maybe I can start unpacking stuff." I grin, suddenly alight with the idea of doing something productive.

Gerard nods, seeming satisfied that I won't be sitting around bored all day. He leans in to quickly peck my lips. "My little house-husband," He laughs.

I nudge his shoulder and stick my tongue out at him. "We're not married, idiot."

He sits down on the end of the bed to pull on his shoes. "I know," He says. "But house-lover makes you sound like sex slave and house-boyfriend just doesn't have the same ring to it."

I laugh and crawl to where he sits, watching him finish tying the Converse before he turns to look at me. I kiss him again, wrapping my arms around his neck. When he stands up, gathering his portfolio in the corner of the room, I offer him a small wave. "Have a good day at work."

He grins again, the excitement of this new job lighting up his features with a look that makes me smile as well. "I love you."

My heart flutters, like every time he says those simple words. "Love you, too."

•••

After a quick shower, I make my way downstairs, my bare feet scuffing across the wooden floor. The house feels desolate suddenly, huge and empty. Silence seeps through every wall, filling every room with the deafening noiseless air. I stand awkwardly still at the base of the stairs for a long moment, just listening. Waiting for anything to happen. But when nothing does, I decide that I don't like the silence.

In the hallway between the living room and kitchen is set up a table. Atop that, a stereo. It takes me a few minutes to hook the speakers up, but eventually I'm pushing in an old mix CD, the silence immediately filling with guitar instead. I smile, feeling proud of myself, and set to work.

If the stereo is set at half volume, the noise can be heard all the way on the far side of the house. At full volume, it can be heard upstairs in the master bedroom closet. After running up and down the stairs a couple of times to figure this out, that's where I settle. I end up arranging Gerard's clothes on one side of the closet by color coordination. My own are on the other side the same way. It takes longer than it should, as I wind up seated on the closet floor, comparing the shades of black and contemplating whether they should fade from darkest to lightest, or vice versa.

When I'm finally pleased with the clothing situation, my stomach begins demanding attention and I make my way downstairs once more. In the kitchen, the refrigerator is scarcely stocked, containing only an apple, a half-filled carton of milk, and a can of ravioli. Chuckling, I pull the can out and place it in it's proper place in the pantry. The pantry is also nearly empty, with a box of uncooked spaghetti and another can of ravioli.

Sighing, I close the cabinet and lean against the island in the center of the room. A piece of paper left on the smooth marble surface quickly catches my attention, Gerard's small handwriting scribbled in a quick message across the white.

**_I know there's not much food, but please eat something. We'll go shopping when I get home.  
xoGee_ **

I smile a little at the small message. Going back to the fridge and leaving the note where it is, I retrieve the apple.

When I finally toss the cleaned core into the trash, I move back into the front hall to switch the song now blaring through the speakers on the stereo. I hum along a little and press the skip forward button. In that minute pause as the song changes, I hear the most deafening and terrifying sound imaginable. Looking up slowly, the sound is confirmed by what I see.

The door.

Only a few feet away, the front door sounds again with knocking. We've yet to put a curtain up across the glass, letting me see perfectly through to the woman standing on the other side, smiling warmly. Unfortunately, it also allows her to see through to me.

The woman, probably in her mid-fifties by the looks of her dyed dirty-blonde hair and pink cardigan sweater, waves at me. I feel frozen to the spot, terrified and completely unable to move. I can't even think. The sudden start to the music again makes me jump and I instantly turn it down to an almost inaudible volume.

She sees me. She knows I'm here. She knows I see her. I could walk away, pretend like it never even happened, but Gerard and I live here now. If I ignore her, we'll seem like shitty neighbors.

_We're here to start over,_  I remind myself.  _We're here to move on from everything that New Jersey holds. I can start over. I can do this._

Running the palms of my hands down my jeans, I take a hesitant step toward the door. It takes all the courage I have to reach forward with a shaking hand and unlock the deadbolt. By the time I actually manage to pull the door open a small amount, I'm bursting with both pride and panic. My stomach flutters uneasily and I bite down on my lip, watching the woman on the other side of the door.

"Well hello there, sweetie!" She chirps, positively beaming. She sticks a hand between us and I involuntarily jerk away. Her smile falters a little and her voice is only a little less cheerful when she drops her hand back to her side. "My name's Deanna, I live just down the street."

I nod ever so slightly at her, forcing what I'm sure is a grimace. "Hi." I mentally pat myself on the back for managing the simple word, though it's barely mumbled. I'm speaking to a stranger. Gerard is going to be proud.

"Umm..." The woman, Deanna, smiles again, her eyes flickering back behind me for a moment. "Are your parents home?"

Oh great, she thinks I'm a kid. I almost roll my eyes, but then realize that this is going to require more words. I could always slam the door in her face and retreat back into the safety of the house. I'm sure Gerard would understand. But, even as my heart pounds painfully against my ribs, I force myself to clear my throat before making more words come out, this time my voice a little louder.

"It's actually just... uh..." I run a hand through my hair, the movement helping to ease my shaking a little, but I'm sure Deanna notices. Suddenly, I'm at a loss for words, but not due to my anxiety. What do I tell her? What do I call Gerard? Is he my boyfriend? My lover? My partner? What if this bitch is homophobic? I finally sigh, settling on saying, "Me and my husband." It's true enough. Gerard called me his house-husband this morning. Even if it wasn't bound by law, it was true enough in our eyes.

"Oh!" Deanna's pale blue eyes widen in surprise and I can't tell what shocks her more-- The fact that I'm gay or that I'm not a kid. "I'm so sorry, dear," She says, laughing softly. "You just look so young." I actually smile a little at that. At least she doesn't seem to be shaming me for my sexuality. Maybe these neighbors won't be so bad after all. "What's your name, sweetheart?"

"Frank," I reply, mostly in a feeble attempt to get her to stop with the pet names. They're freaking me the fuck out.

Deanna nods happily and the smile that never seems to leave her face widens. "And your husband? Is he home?"

I shake my head a little. By now, my panic has settled a little, leaving the adrenaline still buzzing through my veins, though the urge to slam the door and hide has mostly faded. That's good, right? "Gerard's at work," I state. My voice is still weak, my fingers tapping anxiously on the door, my ears filling with the nearly silent music still playing behind me. "He won't be home until later, if you want to meet him."

"Great!" Deanna beams, her mascaraed eyes crinkling up with the gesture. "Well it was a pleasure meeting you, Frank. I look forward to meeting Gerard, as well."

I can't think of anything else to say, so I settle with simply closing the door, watching through the window as Deanna retreats. As soon as she's out of sight, I lock the door and practically run into the kitchen, fumbling with the phone and dialing Gerard's cell number. When he answers, I can hear the smile in his voice. "Hey, Frank."

"Gerard!" I gasp, suddenly out of breath. My chest is constricting with the pulse of adrenaline and I try again. "Gee!"

"Frankie?" This time, the smile is gone from his voice and I hear only worry. "What's wrong? Did something happen?"

"Yes!" I say, and then laugh. I can practically feel him relaxing through the phone. "I mean, nothing is wrong, but something happened." I pause, building up the suspense. I can't help the grin spreading across my lips when I say, "Gerard, I talked to somebody. Like a real person. And I didn't freak out. Gee, I talked to someone that's not you or Ray or Ashley."

"Baby, that's great!" I can hear the legitimate excitement in his words, only boosting my pride more. "Seriously, Frank. That's awesome. Who was it?"

I shrug, coming down from my high and leaning against the counter. "Some lady that lives down the street. I told her I live here with my husband and that you won't be home until later and then she said she can't wait to meet you..." My words trail off and I feel that unsettling feeling in my stomach again. "Shit."

"What?" Gerard wonders.

I bite down on my lip and breathe in. "I think I accidentally invited her over."

_Shit_...

Talking to people through a crack in the door-- I can do. Hosting a greeting with my new neighbor-- Not so much...


	9. Chapter 9

"Should we make food?" I move swiftly around the large island to open the fridge, staring desperately at the scarcely filled shelves.

Gerard chuckles, leaning against the refrigerator door and tilting his head to see the contents as well. "We don't have food," He says. "Besides, we don't even know if this lady is coming back tonight. From what you told me, you just kind of informed her that I would be home. You didn't necessarily invite her back--"

The doorbell interrupts his words and I cut him a glare. "You were saying?" I straighten up, sighing and letting the refrigerator door fall closed. I fold my arms tightly across my chest and my frown deepens. "We're horrible neighbors," I state. "I unintentionally invited someone over and I didn't even make food. Aren't you supposed to make food for guests?"

Gerard smiles and cups my face in his hands. Kissing me once, he leans back. "Relax, okay? We'll make this quick. Then we can go grocery shopping."

I bite down nervously on my lip and nod. Gerard leaves the room to answer the door while I turn my attention to the coffee maker, thankful we at least have caffeine to help me through this. I can hear voices, not quite able to make out the words, as I scoop a few spoonfuls of grounds into the filter. Flicking on the switch, I push it back on the counter and turn just in time to see Gerard returning with a smiling Deanna in tow. She holds a tray in her hands, Saran wrap clinging tightly to the hard metal and hiding whatever is inside.

"I baked some lasagna earlier," Deanna chirps, holding out the pan. "I know how moving in can be kind of hectic and figured I would bring some by."

Gerard takes the pan from her hands, setting it down on the island and smiling. "Thank you," He says. "That's um... Really thoughtful."

The coffee pot clicks, alerting us to the finished beverage, and I turn my attention to retrieving mugs. Grabbing two, I glance at Gerard. Without words, I gesture toward the woman standing near him. He understands full well my question, but he purses his lips and remains silent.

After a seconds hesitation, I sigh and turn to the woman myself. "Umm..." I start in a quiet voice. "Do you want some coffee?"

Deanna's smile widens and she nods. "Oh yes, dear. That would be lovely."

I retrieve one more ceramic mug from the cabinet, shooting Gerard a silent glare. He simply smirks smugly before his attention returns to Deanna. As I fill each mug with the steaming liquid, I listen.

"So where did you two move here from?" The older woman wonders.

"Jersey," Gerard replies, offering no more detail than that.

I place two mugs on the island and grab my own, instantly moving to Gerard's side. Bringing the cup to my lips, I inhale the steam. "Why Ohio?" Deanna presses curiously. "Do you have family here?"

Gerard glances down at me and I lower my gaze to the coffee. He hesitates, clearing his throat with a small cough. What is he supposed to say?  _No, we don't have family here. We moved to Ohio to get away from the fact that neither of us have any family at all._

"Gerard's job," I offer after a moment. I catch the woman's gaze over the brim of my mug, trying my hardest to not look away. "They transferred him to a Columbus office." I deliberately ignore the latter question about family, focusing on something simpler instead.

Gerard watches me with a small smile before returning his attention to Deanna and nodding.

"Oh?" Deanna lifts the mug to her lips and takes a delicate sip. "And what is it you do, Gerard?"

"I work at Cartoon Network," Gerard explains. He's visibly relaxed now that we've moved away from the topic of family. "I'm an animator."

"That sounds intriguing," Deanna hums her approval with another drink. Her eyes then land on me. "And what about you, Frank?" She wonders. "What do you do for work?"

My mouth feels dry suddenly and I gulp another mouthful of the bitter drink. It feels hot on my tongue, but I don't mind. "Umm..." I open my mouth to say something, but nothing comes forward. I'm an unemployed recovering addict. To anyone outside the situation, I would sound like a freeloader-- I was completely dependent on Gerard's income. And I spent countless sleepless nights torturing myself with the guilt that seemed pressing at times because I knew it was, at least in part, true.

"Frank's a homemaker," Gerard replies easily.

_Homemaker_. I roll the term around in my head, silently repeating it. Well, that definitely has a nicer ring to it than freeloader...

Gerard's fingers lace through mine and he brings our hands up to kiss just below the knuckles. He smiles down at me.

"How long have you two been together?" Deanna asks, and I look back to see her watching us in admiration. There's no judgmental glare or even a glimmer of disgust in her pretty blue eyes. Just awe.

"Three years," Gerard replies, looking at me again with the same adoration. "We met back in High School." His vague explanation suffices for Deanna, not making us go into anymore gruesome details about my attempted suicide. With the thought, though, I seem to notice for the first time that I'm wearing Gerard's Stone Sour T-shirt. The short sleeves reveal both of my arms, setting them out in the open for Deanna to clearly see, as well as the old scars that adorn them. If she does see them, she says nothing.

Just as Deanna opens her mouth to reply, the sound of the door drags all of our attention toward the front hall. Incessant pounding, erratic and loud, before whoever is on the other side discovers the doorbell and chiming sounds in the distance, too. Gerard and I share a concerned look and his hand falls away from mine. He doesn't even take one step before the front door crashes open and I stare, wide-eyed and panicked, as a kid runs into the room.

The boy, tall and thin with dark hair, comes into view, nearly tripping and actually falling through the kitchen doorway. "Hi!" He exclaims, balancing himself and waving.

I take a scared step back and grab onto Gerard's hand again, pulling him closer to me. But Gerard doesn't seem scared-- He gapes at the uninvited guest, taking an angry step forward and angling himself so his body is shielding mine. "Gee," I try to pull him back again, not really sure what this stranger is capable of or what he wants.

But Gerard isn't listening. "Who the fuck are you?" He demands.

The kid, probably around my age, if not a few years younger, waves his arms around, attempting to catch his breath. In the minute silence, Deanna speaks up, taking a step closer to the boy. Setting her mug down, she crosses her arms and sets him with a stern look. "Joshua Garth Ramsay, this had better be good."

The kid nods fervently and my hand automatically tightens around Gerard's. "You know him?" Gerard asks warily.

Deanna sighs, nodding. "Unfortunately. This is my grandson, Josh." She smiles apologetically before her expression hardens and she glares at the kid again. "You cannot just barge into someone's house," She scolds. "I raised you better than that. You should have knocked. You nearly scared the pants off these two, thinking they had a burglar or something."

Josh groans, defeated, and turns to face Gerard and I. "I'm sorry I... kind of broke into your house."

"Uh..." Gerard starts, unsure.

"This had better be important," Deanna narrows her eyes at her grandson again. For being an older lady, she's kind of intimidating.

"It's really really  _really_  important!" Josh exclaims. He waves his hands again, emphasizing just how important breaking into our house is. "Gramps told me I could find you here." He takes a deep breath, letting it out, before asking, "Where are my toaster waffles?"

Deanna sighs heavily and glares once more at the younger boy. "Joshua..." She begins and I can hear the start of a lecture raising in her voice.

"Grams!" Josh says, arms starting to flail again, his voice jumping an octave. "This is important, woman! Do you know how many toasterable delicacies we have at the house? Not many! I need my fucking waffles!"

Deanna levels a stubby finger at Josh, a silent warning, before turning to face Gerard and I again. "I'm so sorry about him," She says apologetically. "I really am. This isn't exactly a good first impression."

"So..." Gerard says slowly, curiously watching Josh. He still grasps my hand, absently stroking his thumb over my knuckles. "You broke into our house because you want...  _waffles_?"

Josh looks nervous, Deanna flushing with the embarrassment. And... I can't help but laugh. Gerard turns to face me, but I can't control myself. I put a hand over my mouth to stifle the noise-- I know this a serious situation, but the entirety of it is just ridiculous.

"Okay," I say after a few more giggles escape me. I step around Gerard, squeezing his hand once more before letting it drop. With only a little hesitation, I walk closer to Josh, stopping when I'm a few feet away. I swallow hard and reach an arm between us. The scars visible on my skin seem to glow white and obvious under the kitchen light, but I focus on just the boy's clear blue eyes. "I'm Frank."

He looks kind of surprised, but after a second, he shakes my hand with a smile of his own. "Josh."

When I allow my arm to fall back at my side, I glance behind me to meet Gerard's eyes. He's watching me, biting down on his lip and looking proud. Deanna seems to have relaxed, too, seeing me introduce myself to her grandson instead of flipping shit and calling the police. The silence that hangs around us only lasts a moment before Josh stuffs both of his hands into his jean pockets, rocking back on his heels and looking at me. "So," He purses his lips. "Do you guys have any toaster waffles?"


	10. Chapter 10

“Star Wars?” Gerard holds up the DVD as he pulls it free from it’s placement on the shelf.

Making a face, I shake my head. “We watched that one last week.” Gerard pouts for a minute, jutting his lower lip out and watching me with a pleading expression. When he realizes I’m not going to give in, he sighs dramatically and puts the movie back. “What about Bread Crumbs?”

Now it’s Gerard’s turn to grimace. “That one with the creepy-ass kids who kill the porn stars?”

I nod excitedly and Gerard can’t resist the grin on my face, smirking a little with a half-hearted roll of his eyes. He skims the movies, his fingertips brushing over the spines of each in turn. I point a single finger past him. “Second shelf,” I say. “Third to the left.” I grin again proudly. “I rearranged them so they’re in order from ‘ _Best movie ever_ ’ to ‘ _Sucks ass_ ’.”

Gerard chuckles, grabbing the film and placing the disk into the player. As he’s sliding the case back onto the shelf, he stops and turns to me, his expression one of horror. “You put Leprechaun on the sucky end?”

I frown and nod. “That movie sucks, Gee.”

Gerard pouts, crossing his arms and sullenly falling into the cushion next to me. “You’re just jealous he’s probably taller than you,” He grumbles and my mouth falls open.

“You just called me short,” I narrow my eyes at him. “You bitch.”

Gerard just laughs and leans over to kiss me quickly. “It’s okay if you’re short and have bad taste in movies,” He reasons with a small smile playing around the corners of his lips. “I still love you.”

I shove him, which only causes him to laugh harder. That’s when I shift on the sofa, losing the blanket draped across my lap in the process, to straddle my boyfriend’s waist. I pin both of his arms above his head, leaning in close to him. The close proximity causes his giggles to falter, fading into uneven breaths as he gazes up at me. And then his mouth is on mine again. He’s craning his neck to reach me, but I lean back just out of reach, allowing my lips to just barely graze his, my tongue snaking out to brush across the skin. He shivers beneath me, a breathy moan falling from him and hanging between us. Suddenly, the matter of which movie to watch is forgotten. The only thing prudent is the sparks I feel all over my skin, the way his wrists twist against my grip as he writhes, trying and needing to touch me, the taste of coffee and Gerard’s lips mingling and settling heavy on my tongue when it presses against his.

“Whoa, okay.” A voice sounds behind us and I groan, reluctantly pulling away from Gerard and sitting up on the couch, allowing him to follow. “Did not need to see that. It’s supposed to be movie night. If I confused it with fucking night, please let me know and I will leave.”

I roll my eyes, chuckling softly as I see Josh hesitating in the doorway. He’s somehow managing to juggle a box of pizza, an already popped bag of popcorn, and three bottles of Pepsi in his arms without dropping a single thing.

Gerard grins, curling up at my side and winking at the new arrival. “Oh, Joshua,” He says, shaking his head. “Fucking night is every night. We usually just wait until you go home to continue with that part.”

Josh closes his eyes, looking somewhat disturbed. “There is no way I am getting that mental image out of my head. Thanks for that.”

Gerard laughs again. “No problem.” He sits up straighter as I move the blanket so Josh can have the unoccupied cushion to my left. “We’re watching Bread Crumbs.”

Josh’s brow crinkles when he sets the food down on the coffee table, glancing at the television. “What’s it about?”

“Crazy kids and porn stars,” I explain vaguely, already opening the pizza. I grab a slice and take the first bite, talking around the food. “Gerard’s upset because this movie’s better than Leprechaun.”

“And Frank’s jealous that the Leprechaun is taller than he is,” He interjects, stealing a bite of my pizza. I swallow and stick my tongue out at him. Gerard cocks an eyebrow. “You shouldn’t stick your tongue out. I might bite it.”

To my left, Josh makes gagging noises. “You guys are adorable,” He says dryly, rolling his eyes and taking the liberty to grab the remote, hitting play. “Now can we watch people die? Cool.”

I sigh, contently leaning back into Gerard’s side and pulling the blanket up around us. I’ve learned to ignore the way he watches me eat, counting the pieces I consume to make sure it’s enough. Even Josh has picked up on the looks he gives me, like he’s appraising me quietly for feeding myself, like a baby for the first time. Once, a few weeks ago, he pointed it out.

It had been while Gerard was at work, Josh coming over on one of his regular visits, as he’s been doing nearly the entire two months we’ve known him now. He was helping me organize the kitchen, rearranging the contents of the pantry. I had been picking daintily at a bowl of macaroni and cheese, one noodle at a time every few minutes. “You don’t eat very much,” Josh had informed me, scrutinizing me with narrowed blue eyes.

I had just shrugged, taking another bite to appease him.

It was then that Josh had sighed, a deep, troubled sound. He scooted closer, lowering his voice though it was just the two of us in the entire house. “I’ve noticed the way Gerard watches you when you do eat,” He continued. “Like he’s watching how much you do. Is he…” He trailed off, looking uncomfortable. “He’s not hurting you, is he?”

My eyes went wide at his comment, the very suggestion making my stomach twist in absolute horror. “ _What_?”

Josh hurried on, looking more and more concerned with each passing second. “I mean, it seems like you’re afraid to eat sometimes. You can’t answer the front door without looking like a frightened chihuahua. Frankie, it’s okay. You don’t have to be scared. Gerard seems awesome, but if he’s hurting you--”

I cut him off with the shake of my head, turning fully so I was facing him straight on and letting out a breath. “Josh, Gerard would never hurt me.  _Ever_.” Another unsteady breath. “I used to be bulimic,” I admitted, and in that moment is was as if a weight had been lifted off of my chest. “Gerard watches me to make sure I eat enough, but not so much that he knows I’ll purge.” The frown on Josh’s face disappeared as I spoke, and now that I was telling him, I found I wanted to. I  _wanted_  to tell somebody and the fact that Josh was worried about me made me feel safe. And so on that day, I told him everything. I told him about trying to kill myself, finding Gerard, and my anxiety. I vaguely spoke of Mikey, but only in passing, not bothering with the crude details of Gerard’s own problems. When I was finished, Josh had glanced down at my arms, still exposed with the short sleeves. I didn’t flinch away when he reached out, fingertips grazing the flesh.

It was when he craned his neck and brushed some hair aside that I had cringed. At the base of his skull was a wide pink scar, stretching down to dip below the fabric of his shirt. “My mom used to hit me. When I was twelve I got this, authorities got involved, and she finally went to jail,” He admitted. “My Grams and Gramps took me in and took care of me, but along with the post traumatic stress, I have ADHD. It made school really hard. Fell in with the wrong crowd and started abusing prescription drugs when I was fifteen.”

“But you’re clean now?” I wondered.

Josh had nodded proudly. “Sober for almost four years.” He smiled sadly. “Sorry for assuming Gerard was hurting you. Grams says I shouldn’t jump to conclusions as much as I do.”

I quickly shook my head, frowning. “No, don’t apologize. It’s nice to have a friend that actually cares enough to worry.”

Josh laughed, shrugging. “Seriously though, Gerard is great. And he better treat you right, or he’s gonna face the wrath of Joshua Garth Ramsay.”

Now, on the sofa with the two of them, I shift against Gerard, leaning back and propping my legs up so they’re strewn across Josh’s lap. Josh groans, watching the television screen as a girl’s shirt is ripped open. “Fucking B-grade movies, man,” He complains, stuffing a handful of popcorn into his mouth and gesturing wildly to the movie. “That is a completely unnecessary nipple scene! What the hell?!”

Beneath me, Gerard snorts. “What do you care?” He asks. “You like boobs.”

Josh rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “My love of boobs is not the issue here,” He retorts. “The issue is the fact that it doesn’t make sense. They can kill her perfectly fine without her boobs hanging about willy nilly.”

“He’s kind of right,” I agree, glancing up at Gerard. “I mean, where are the dick scenes? I demand an exposed penis!”

Gerard winks at me, grinning. “Careful what you wish for.”

Josh fake gags again and pushes himself off the sofa. “Enough about Gerard’s bits and pieces. I’m getting another soda.”

“Bring me some Skittles!” I call after him, but he’s already out of the room. I hear the faint sound as he grunts noncommittally. When I turn back to Gerard, he’s smiling at me. It’s a contagious gesture and I find myself smiling right along with him. “What?”

He shakes his head, still smirking. “Just remembering when we met,” He admits. “I never would have imagined being like this now,” He tightens his arm around my shoulder, bringing me closer. “It was a shitty time for both of us. I never really thought I would be happy.”

I snort. “You and me both.” When Gerard and I first met, I didn’t imagine living past the age of seventeen. Now here we were, twenty and living together in an amazing house. He has a stable job that he loves and I take care of our home.

_Home_.

I roll the term around a few times, snuggling into Gerard’s side as Josh comes back. Three years ago, I didn’t have a home. I had a house with a bunch of strangers, and before that a vacant house with an empty mother. Now, I had everything I could ever dream for, and more.


End file.
